THE MISER
A FELLOW all his life lived hoarding gold,
And, dying, hoarded left it. And behold,
One night his son saw peering through the house
A man, with yet the semblance of a mouse,
Watching a crevice in the wall, and cried,
“My father?” “Yes,” the Mussulman replied,
“Thy father!” “But why watching thus?” “For fear
Lest any smell my treasure buried here.”